Bad Blood
by lisbon99
Summary: The news that Jane has an 'evil twin' is spreading like wildfire throughout the building. Last she heard, some people are taking it as a sign that the apocalypse is imminent and have fled the city already. [Jane/Lisbon. Slightly crazy (and by that I of course mean 100% insane)]
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** The news that Jane has an 'evil twin' is spreading like wildfire throughout the building. Last she heard, some people are taking it as a sign that the apocalypse is imminent and have fled the city already. [Jane/Lisbon. Slightly crazy (and by that I of course mean 100% insane)]

**Disclaimer:** Don't own The Mentalist, blah blah blah

**Author's Notes:** Okay… so I'm not entirely clear how I started writing this. It was just a piece of silliness that was never meant to see the light of day (and I may yet regret unleashing it here), but the more I've written, the more I've had a selfish wish to see what you guys think. So, yes, I know it's utterly crack-ish but I hope I've managed to keep everybody in character as much as possible.

One further note – there'll be no Red John in this, but it is set during the CBI era, so I guess that technically makes it AU.

* * *

_It figures, she thinks, as he stalks her around her own living room._

_Figures that of all the weird and crazy things that have ever, ever happened to her, _this_ would be the most bizarre, the most unbelievable, and the most traumatising… and that for once, it hasn't been instigated by Patrick Jane._

_Of course, she considers with a wry smile, he deserves some credit._

_After all, the man pursuing her with a rather lethal smirk on his face shares his DNA._

_Every last handsome, seductive, relentless drop of it._

_She gulps as he finally traps her against the wall. Some days, she really does hate her life._

* * *

It starts when they catch a case all the way down in San Diego. Jane hasn't been on the crime scene more than five minutes when he's tackled – rather roughly, in Lisbon's opinion – by three of the SDPD's finest.

Three hours later, she's argued herself hoarse but secured his freedom. (Mainly by calling in pretty much every favour she's ever been owed and guaranteeing herself as his alibi and his keeper forever and ever, til death do they part, yadda yadda.)

Not that _he_ cares, oh no, the rat bastard.

No, he's far more interested in the fact that he has a doppelganger. If she's honest, she's interested, too. The police sketch that's been floating around the SDPD offices for the better part of eight months is astonishingly accurate – it's no wonder those officers took one look at him and pegged him for their man. If Lisbon hadn't insisted on going over the charges levelled against him with a fine-toothed comb and used her own calendar to verify Jane's presence elsewhere at the time of each and every incident, she'd have had her own suspicions.

So either someone's had some of the best plastic surgery on offer, or Jane has a relative.

* * *

He refuses to call his father – or _anyone_ from his old world, for that matter – and she knows she's unlikely to get anywhere with carnie folk by herself, so she doesn't do anything crazy like run off to the circus.

Instead, she utilises the skills from her own 'world', and e-mails the sketch to every contact she has in California, plus a few in other states.

Then she sits back and waits.

This part would be a lot easier if Jane weren't slouching throughout the building looking pensive and worried. The news that he has an 'evil twin' is spreading like wildfire throughout the building. Last she heard, some people are taking it as a sign that the apocalypse is imminent and have fled the city already.

She glances at her copy of the sketch again. It's fast becoming a guilty pleasure, and she knows she ought to stop, but she can't seem to help herself. It's _weird_, the way his eyes seem to bore into hers from the paper, but then, it's a damned detailed image. The artist has used charcoal and – according to the SDPD –put together the final picture by collating grainy glimpses of the man's face from CCTV with the details from many, many witness statements.

Given that the artist has captured something of the personality and mood of the doppelganger, it isn't hard to spot the differences between this man and Jane.

The jawline, for example, appears much harder than Jane's, and is peppered with a few days' worth of stubble. His hair appears not dissimilar in colour – as near as she can tell from a charcoal drawing, anyway – but is styled differently; she thinks it's been slightly gelled but not slicked back… she can still see the volume and shape of the curls. Jane would never use gel, she thinks. Some days he barely brushes his hair, depending on his mood.

The doppelganger's eyebrows are slightly drawn together and his forehead is clearly lined; his expression appears to be a curious mix of hostility and slight interest. His mouth is thin, with noticeable sharp lines at each corner.

She isn't a fool.

She knows she sees these differences because she's known Jane for ten years. Objectively, she realises that most people would easily mistake one for the other.

She wonders if they'll ever find him.

Or if Jane even wants to.

* * *

Nearly a week later, somebody finally gets back to her about the Jane Double running around out there.

Tom Holtz is an ex-boyfriend of hers from San Francisco; he works in Phoenix, Arizona now (and has been known to call her while drunk every so often, but that's another story) having passed the sketch around his station.

As it turns out, the Fraud squad has encountered this guy _very_ recently – two weeks ago, to be precise. He gave them the slip just as they were about to arrest him, and so they alerted police departments in the surroundings states. Holtz has been holding off calling her because the situation is still developing… in fact, it's developed its way right back into California.

* * *

She hammers on the attic door relentlessly until she hears the clicking of the locks on the other side.

Jane frowns at her through the gap, looking tired and a little annoyed.

She doesn't care. "Needles," she says, triumphantly.

He blinks at her. "What?"

"Needles, California." She hands him the faxed copies of his arrest record, keeping them flat so that Jane is forced to open the door wider to take them properly. "They've got him in custody there for petty theft, but there are warrants for his arrest in nine counties here in California, as well as Utah and Arizona. It's mostly theft, but he's quite the con-artist, it seems. He's committed forgery as well as three types of fraud – mostly intellectual property scams in which he claims to be a software developer for a variety of well-known companies in Silicon Valley."

Jane is staring at the sheet on top, which includes a mug-shot of his doppelganger. "Paul Cohen."

"We don't know if that's his real name," she says softly. "He's used dozens of aliases for his previous crimes."

"He looks…" Jane shakes his head, words failing him for a moment.

"Come on," she says, stepping back. "We need to leave now if we're going to get there before close of business today."

His head jerks up too fast, and she almost hears his neck crick. "Get… where?"

She gestures to the papers. "Needles, of course. Time to meet this guy in person, don't you think?"

* * *

"He looks _just_ like me," Jane says, for the third time. "It's… it's too much, Lisbon. Too many similarities."

"I know," she says. No doubt he isn't listening to her. He's been mostly talking to himself for the duration of the journey.

"Do you know what this means?" he says, reaching forward and putting the photo on the dashboard. "It means we aren't _just_ related. We can't be."

She takes her eyes off the road for longer than it's safe to do so in order to stare at him. "Are you saying… what? That he's your… twin?" Saying the word feels wrong, but of course she's considered this very possibility. She just never gave voice to it until now.

"I never knew my mother," Jane tells her, so quietly she can barely hear him. "She left not long after I was born – just dumped me with my dad. He never talked about her and I never asked. So…" he sighs heavily. "If I had a twin, I guess I wouldn't know about it."

This is crazy, she realises. So crazy it ought to be a dream. Suddenly, she isn't so sure she wants to meet whoever is in a holding cell _less than fifty miles away_ now, holy crap…

But then, she's the one who dragged Jane out of his attic, so doing a U-turn right now would probably send something of a mixed message. "Probably should have asked this earlier," she admits sheepishly, "but do you _want_ to see this guy?"

He glances at her. "I'm not sure," he murmurs. "But if I _don't_ meet him, and he keeps running around out there… who knows what trouble he'll cause. For me, I mean," he clarified. "One wrongful arrest is quite enough, I think."

A strange shiver runs down her spine – _someone walking over my grave_, she thinks – and exhales slowly. "This is so weird," she muses aloud. "A twin. An _identical_ twin. I wonder what he's like…"

"You're not going to like him," Jane says immediately. Flatly. He meets her eyes briefly. "Mug shots can be rather telling," he elaborates. "This one says he's cold, and careless, and he doesn't care who he hurts. He's… the old me, I'd guess. Me if I hadn't met my wife."

"Ah," she says softly, and lapses into silence. If he's right, then no, she's not going to like Paul Cohen, or whatever the hell his name is. Forty-eight hours of 'Old Jane' was enough for her; she's not anxious to relive that experience any time soon.

That said, she can't help but wonder what it'll be like to see the two of them interacting.

A small smile tugs at her lips, but she suppresses it quickly. She stopped lying to herself long ago – she's attracted to Jane. _Very _attracted. Naturally, the thought of two identical Janes holds a degree of physical appeal. (Providing, of course, that Bad Jane doesn't ruin it for her.)

She'll even have the luxury of being behind a two-way mirror.

She steps on the gas just a fraction more.

* * *

Needles is a small town, and as such some of its law enforcement provision is contracted out from San Bernardino County PD. The actual Needles Police Department offices are housed within the (small) fire department building, and there is only one Deputy Sherriff behind the desk when they arrive. He's tall and thin, with a pair of rimless glasses perched on his nose as he stares intently at his book. At their footsteps, he carefully folds a corner of a page and closes the book before glancing up.

He does a double take when he sees Jane. "Well, I'll be," he breathes. "She wasn't kidding."

Lisbon clears her throat, and he blinks at her. "Oh, the she is you! I mean…" he clears his throat. "I'm sorry, let me start again. You're Agent Lisbon."

"That's right, Deputy… Morrow?"

He gets to his feet, ambling across to shake her hand. "Certainly am. And this here must be your associate, Mr, uh…?"

"Patrick Jane." Lisbon can tell by the lines of tension on his face that Jane isn't really interested in making small talk. He's psyched himself up for this, so he's ready to get in there and meet the man with his face.

"Well," the deputy murmurs, apparently lost for words. "That really… I mean, it's uncanny…"

"Yes," Lisbon says politely. "Mr Cohen _is_ still here, isn't he?"

"Oh, of course, of course." Morrow reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small set of keys on a chain attached to his belt loop. "Here, come with me, won't you?"

She was wrong to hope for a two-way mirror. There are two cells, and one interview room without an observation area, Morrow tells them. "Most go to San Bernardino, you know, since the courthouse is there. This here fella will stay with us a little longer, though, seeing as how everybody wants a piece of him." He laughs lightly as he unlocks the interview room door. "You two make yourselves comfy in here and I'll go get him."

'Comfy' is optimistic, Lisbon finds, as she settles into a hard plastic chair. Next to her, Jane is digging his nails into his palms and looking rather nauseous. Glancing at the open door, she quickly covers one of his hands with hers. "Hey," she says quietly, "we don't have to do this. We can go, right now if you want. Just say the word."

Unexpectedly, he squeezes her hand. "I'm okay," he says, meeting her eyes. "Really, Lisbon. I just -"

"Holy fucking _fuck._"

Their heads are in sync as they turn to look at the doorway. 'Paul Cohen' stands there, staring open-mouthed at Jane. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he declares. "This moron was telling the _truth_?"

She has to fight to keep her jaw dropping to the floor. Seeing the photos was one thing – staring at a face with which she has ten years of second-hand familiarity from only a few feet away is an entirely different kettle of fish.

From behind him, the deputy speaks, sounding annoyed. "Shut your cakehole, Cohen, and watch the language." Lisbon doesn't see what he does, but Cohen stumbles forward into the room with an '_oof_' of surprise. He casts a nasty look over his shoulder, but moves to sit in the chair opposite them. The deputy pulls the door closed, but they hear him clearly when he says, "You folks just knock when you're ready."

Lisbon gives a weak smile, and turns back to her companions at the table. "Guess you're related to me, or whatever," Cohen is saying gruffly.

The differences are as plain to see here as they were in the photos. Jane smiles frequently, though sometimes insincerely, and it lifts his face. This man's mouth appears fixed in a flat, hard line. He and Jane have similar signs of age – lines and wrinkles in all the expected places – but Cohen's are deeper, more enduring. Whatever his life has been, he hasn't enjoyed it, it seems.

His hair is slightly scruffier than she'd expected – the result of a night in a cell, most likely – and his clothes are plain – a long-sleeved navy t-shirt and khaki slacks. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal toned forearms which, along with his calloused hands, suggest a history of physical labour.

Of course, these are only her observations. She wonders what extensive detail Jane is extracting from the man in front of him without even opening his mouth.

Speaking of which…

"Guess I am," Jane replies after a long pause. His tone is carefully neutral, but Lisbon sees the tension in his frame. "Our mother took you, then?"

Cohen scoffs, shaking his head. "_Why_, I don't fucking know. Who'd she dump _you_ with?"

Jane blinks. "Our father."

Cohen looks taken aback; she sees his Adam's apple bob as he looks away. "Hilarious," he says eventually, eyes fixed on the table. "Just… hilarious."

Lisbon watches Jane's face; she recognises the telltale signs of him picking up speed with his reading, getting slightly more comfortable as he interprets all the little signals she has no hope of spotting. "What did she tell you?" he asks. "That you didn't have a father?"

Cohen sneers at him. "Well I knew I _had_ one, obviously," he snaps. "I didn't grow out of the fucking ground, did I?"

He sits back in his chair, and his eyes catch hers for the first time. Something flickers in them – she doesn't know what – and then it's gone as he turns back to Jane. She fights to ignore the fact that her heart rate had spiked for those brief few seconds.

"She told me he was dead," Cohen resumes. "And she never said anything about you, either. She left me with the O'Keefes one day and never came back."

Jane's eyes narrow. "O'Keefe? As in Barb and Archie?" His intake of breath seems to catch in his throat. "I met them when I was fifteen, in Palo Verde. I never saw you," he adds, a trace of accusation in his voice.

A smirk tugs at Cohen's lips. "Probably because I got the hell out of there as soon as I figured out what a credit card was. Why the hell would anyone stick around that carny circuit who didn't have to?" His eyes drop to Jane's neat suit. "Not that I need to tell you, clearly."

They regard each other silently for a moment. Then, to her surprise, Jane pushes himself to his feet. "Well, this has been fun," he says, glancing at her. "Shall we, Lisbon?"

She frowns at him, puzzled, even as she's getting up from her seat. "Uh… sure, Jane." She's not sure what's going through his mind – whether something specific has set him off, or it's all too much and he just wants to get out of there.

She makes to follow him to the door, but without warning Jane's empty chair scoots out from the table and blocks her path, propelled by two Converse-clad feet. She narrowly manages not to stumble, her hand landing flat on the tabletop. She turns to scowl at Cohen, and finds him watching her with interest. "So who are you?" he asks, almost conversationally. "Not _his_ girlfriend, obviously. Unless Lisbon is your first name, or something."

She raises a single eyebrow as, without looking, she shoves the chair unceremoniously back underneath the table. "Seeing as this about wraps up our first and only meeting, I think we should just say goodbye and leave it at that."

His lips curl ever so slightly, and his eyes drop first to the gentle swell of her breasts underneath her blouse, and then to her hips. She has the unnerving certainty that it would have been a full-length appraisal if the table hadn't blocked his view of her legs. "Lady cop," he muses, almost to himself. "Never understood the fantasy before, but I guess there's a first time for everyth –"

Two things happen then.

The first is that Jane pounds on the door so loud she thinks the glass will break. The second is that he strides back over to the table and physically gets between herself and Cohen. She can't see his expression, but she hears the barely-controlled fury in his voice when he leans down to look Cohen in the eye. "Let me give you some brotherly advice," he says. "You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. I don't care about your life of crime, but I don't ever want to see you again, is that clear?"

Cohen sounds bored when he replies, "_You_ came looking for _me_, remember?" He cocks his head and affects a quizzical look. "Why was that, again?"

There's a heavy _thunk_ as Morrow unlocks the door from the outside and pushes it open. "You folks alright in here?" he asks, frowning at the sight of Jane squaring off against a rather disinterested Cohen.

"Fine," Jane says tightly. "Come on, Lisbon."

As he turns away from the table, Cohen's eyes meet hers again, and he tosses her a wink. "We could have a private visit anytime," he murmurs. "You know where I am."

She has barely any time to acknowledge the strange sensation of wanting to slam his very familiar face into the table, and then Jane's hand closes over her wrist and she's being propelled out of the room.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** What on earth do you mean, I only wrote this story to fulfil some kind of weird fantasy? What a horrid accusation, I would _never_…

Well, I probably would, but it won't be this story, folks! So if any of you were worrying that this might take a weird sexual turn somewhere along the way, this is me promising **never** to do that. Which is not to say that Paul won't revisit those overtures towards Lisbon at some stage, but I solemnly swear that this a Jane/Lisbon story.

Now I've cleared that up, I'd love to hear what you thought of the first chapter, so please drop me a line below!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** The news that Jane has an 'evil twin' is spreading like wildfire throughout the building. Last she heard, some people are taking it as a sign that the apocalypse is imminent and have fled the city already. [Jane/Lisbon. Slightly crazy (and by that I of course mean 100% insane)]

**Disclaimer:** Don't own The Mentalist, blah blah blah

**Author's Notes:** You guys, I'm so thrilled by the response to the first chapter! And I'm so grateful to you for not pointing out the teensy, weensy matter of my obvious insanity. I should have mentioned, by the way, that _italics_ indicate future scenes…which you all probably figured out anyway, but just in case there was any confusion.

Also, a quick reminder – this is post-Red John, but in a CBI setting. So no Fischer/Abbott/Texas etc.

* * *

She hears, a couple of days later, from Deputy Morrow by phone. "Just thought I'd update you," he says cheerfully, "seeing as you came so far for not very much."

"That's very kind of you," she replies, but she's not so sure she wants to hear this. Whatever Morrow tells her, she'll have to relay to Jane, and he's been much brighter since coming back from Needles – this will surely only set him back.

"On account of his criminal activities in Arizona and Utah as well as California, we've had quite the to-do about the business of the trial, you see." Lisbon can imagine. More than once, she's had to trek across the border to surrounding states because a criminal _she_ apprehended managed to fight to get their case heard in a more 'favourable' court. "Finally got a decision this morning – he'll be tried at the federal court in San Diego."

"I see," she says thoughtfully. This is one occasion she'd have been glad for California to wash its hands of a defendant.

"Don't suppose that's good news for you folks, hmm?"

She forces a smile before realising she's only on the phone. "Well, we'll be staying out of this one, I think."

Morrow guffaws, and it rattles down the receiver. "Oh, he'll be mighty disappointed to hear that."

The hairs prickle at the back of her neck, and the handset feels suddenly heavy in her hand. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice hollow.

Morrow doesn't appear to notice. "Oh, took quite a shine to you, he did." He laughs again, and there's a wheezy note to it. "Well, of course, he was interested in the both of you, but if you'll pardon me saying, you're much prettier so I suppose it's natural he'd ask after you."

"What sorts of things?" she asks sharply.

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't mean to upset you –"

"I'm not _upset_," she snaps, feeling only mildly guilty, "but I'm sure you can understand why this might be a source of concern, given the… connection here."

"Oh, well, you know…" Morrow is backpedalling now, evidently sensing that his well-meaning phone call has upset an apple cart (or nine). "Just the natural things, I think. You know, where the two of you worked, and what the CBI does, and what sorts of cases your unit covers."

Before she has a chance to push further – because he's concealing _something_, she knows he is – there's a knock at her door, and without thinking, she beckons to whoever it is. Cho opens the door a short distance. "You got a minute?" he asks.

"Uh, thank you, Deputy," she says distractedly, and hangs up. To Cho, she says, "Yeah, what's up?"

"Van Pelt thinks she might have something on Barrett's financials…"

Van Pelt's lead is the break in their case, so between getting warrants, slapping Jane's hands away from vital evidence, and arresting their main suspect (who later conveniently confesses), she's busy enough to forget her phone call from Morrow until early evening. When it does occur to her, she glances over at Jane to find him asleep on the couch, open book draped across his chest. What good will it do to tell him, she wonders? He's made it plain he wants to forget all about Paul Cohen, so it's not as if he'll be following the trial with any interest, or even visiting him during his incarceration.

She grits her teeth; she's already decided, truthfully. Jane deserves to live in peace. Paul Cohen is going to be tried and convicted, and neither she nor Jane will ever have to worry about him again.

* * *

Of course she spoke too soon. Of course she did. Because this is Jane and his twin, and _nothing_ screws up _everything_ like whatever weird trouble-making gene Jane's mom and dad managed to splice together and pass on to _two_ people.

"Teresa," Ardiles says, walking into her office without knocking, "I'm going to need you to explain this crapstorm to me, and use small words please because I just saw a photo that made my head hurt."

She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him. "Come on in, Osvaldo," she snipes as he relaxes onto her couch, "take a seat, why don't you? Maybe you'd like a coffee, or a mani-pedi?"

He rolls his eyes at her. "Sorry for showing up unannounced, but I figure you owe me the bigger apology. How could you _not_ tell me that there are two Janes out there? Don't you know how much trouble the original one causes? And now I have to deal with two, Christ on a bicycle…"

_Uh-oh._

There's a heavy, foreboding feeling creeping over her, and she's not sure how she manages to speak normally when she asks, "What do you mean, 'deal with'?"

He blinks at her. "You didn't hear?"

Evidently the expression of dawning horror on her face answers that question, because he sits upright and looks rather nauseous. "Oh, god, this is worse than I thought, isn't it?" He rubs a hand over his face. "So, Paul Cohen's bail hearing was yesterday, and despite clearly being a flight risk, it was granted – can you believe that?"

"How the hell did he pull that off?" she demands. "He's spent two thirds of his adult life out of state, how can they justify - ?"

"Oh, it gets better," Ardiles advises grimly. "He petitioned to have his case heard in the district court here, in Sacramento, instead of San Diego. And he was successful."

"What?!" she explodes, rising to her feet. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, Osvaldo, why the hell did they agree to that?"

Osvaldo gives her such a look of frustration and horror and morbid despair that she actually feels driven to sympathy. "Here's the kicker," he sighs, as she sits back down. "His argument – his whole construct for getting this trial moved 500 miles north – is that he suddenly received some 'life changing, earth shattering news'."

"Oh, god." She drops her head into her hands. "Don't tell me…"

"Yep. He can now demonstrate family ties in this state. And he's arguing that he has a right to spend time developing this new relationship with his brother – who is employed in the field of law enforcement – in the interests of his mental health and behavioural problems." Osvaldo looks as though he might rip his own hair out. "I believe he actually used the words 'to find the right path.' The judge lapped it up."

She says nothing as this sinks in. Paul Cohen is going to be on _her_ territory – and Jane's. He'll be determined to make Jane's life a misery, she feels certain. Instantly, guilt weighs heavy on her heart; she's the one who pushed him to go and see Cohen in the first place. If they hadn't gone, Cohen would never have known about Jane. He'd have been tried and sentenced in San Diego, oblivious the whole while.

"Oh, god," she says again. "I need something stronger than coffee."

Osvaldo nods tiredly from the couch. "I was thinking a bullet."

Jane is lurking in the kitchen when she and Osvaldo finally emerge, having agreed not to rush into either murder or suicide before at least finding out some more information. The DDA still does a double-take when he sees Jane dumping his teabag into the trash can, and he shudders openly. "I'm never going to get used to that," he mutters. "See you, Teresa."

Jane gives him the side-eye as he slinks past. "I'm going to assume that wasn't some kind of incredibly hurtful reference to my appearance," he murmurs into his tea cup. "Then again, it's difficult to tell with Ardiles." He gives her a rather sharp look. "You two looked cosy in there."

She glares at him, exasperated. "Yes, we were critiquing your fashion sense and braiding each other's hair," she shoots back.

He doesn't look even the least bit sorry. "Well, you were certainly being drama queens about something. Which case did I screw up now? The Dobkins double-murder? If you'll recall, I hardly touched that soufflé, so I don't see how –"

"No, Jane," she breaks in, unable to bear his obliviousness a moment longer. "It's about Paul Cohen. There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

"_Seriously," she says flatly, "what the hell are you trying to accomplish here? You really want to make things worse for yourself?"_

_He takes a swig of milk – her milk! – right out of the container and shoves a cookie into his mouth, whole. He groans with satisfaction, his head lolling back on the couch cushions. "Oh my god, did you make these?"_

_She snorts derisively. "Uh, no, do I look like I have time for home baking? My neighbour gave them to me. And anyway, don't avoid the question."_

_He drains the last of the milk, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tilts his head back. She pretends she doesn't notice her own pulse speeding up. Goddamnit, she was such an idiot to ever fall for Patrick Jane. If she hadn't – if she'd retained some small modicum of her sanity – she wouldn't be experiencing what appears to be a mild stroke while watching his identical twin drape himself all over her couch._

"_The way I see it," he begins, his voice husky with fatigue as he folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes, "he got it better than me. Better start in life – went pro almost as soon as he left that world, all those TV gigs, you know? Well, until he fell in with you cops, anyway. Met himself a damn fine woman too."_

"_Yeah, shame about the little issue of her murder," Lisbon snaps, curling her fingers against the fabric of the armchair. "Oh, and his dead kid, too."_

_She feels instantly guilty for being so coldly sarcastic about something that continues to cause Jane so much pain, but it seems to her that nothing will touch this man except harsh words and the occasional fist._

_He cracks one eye open. "I wasn't talking about his wife," he drawls, raising an eyebrow. "But yeah, okay, I see your point. And I'm not saying I'd have wanted that, I'm just saying I think he got the better bargain of us both."_

_She has the beginnings of a headache at work, but she pushes it aside for a moment. "You're a deluded son of a bitch, you know that?"_

_He shrugs half-heartedly. "Meh. Not the first person to say that, damn sure won't be the last."_

_That 'meh' goes right through her. For a moment, she sees him only as Jane, and has to avert her eyes. Her skin prickles and heat races through her nerves. 'Paul Cohen' she thinks furiously. 'Not Jane. Paul Cohen, Paul Cohen, Paul Cohen.'_

_When she turns back, he's got both eyes open and he doesn't look remotely tired anymore._

* * *

Jane is ranting and raving.

It started along the lines of, 'that's ridiculous, Osvaldo is just messing with you' and progressed to 'why the hell didn't you tell me he was being tried in California in the first place?'

Right now it's just muffled noises echoing down the stairwell, because Lisbon walked away twenty minutes ago and left him in the attic, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. She hasn't quite been able to make herself go back to her office, though, because she still feels the need to apologise for her role in this entire disaster. Since Jane doesn't seem to be in the mood to listen, she's just torturing herself by sitting here on the stairs.

People keep giving her weird looks as they pass by, but frankly it's not the craziest thing they've ever seen in this building since Jane started nesting here (emotionally and physically).

Eventually, Cho comes to find her. He's brought coffee.

She honestly loves Cho.

"So," he says, "there's really a twin, huh?"

"You know what I hope?" she muses aloud. "I hope the water supply is contaminated with LSD or something, and we're all out of our minds." A pause. "Even aliens I would accept at this point."

"I figure they've got better things to do," Cho replies. "Like get the hell away from this planet, if they're smart."

She shakes her head, sipping the bitter black coffee. "What was I thinking, Cho?"

He's Cho, so he knows what she means without having to ask. "Look, for what it's worth, I'd have done the same. Except, you know, I'd have shot him on sight."

She snorts softly. "I don't believe you."

"Had a bullet with Jane's name on it since his first day here. Cohen's close enough."

"Shut up," she mutters, digging her elbow into his arm, not missing the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "And you know what I mean."

"Know your enemy," he advises sagely. "That's what you were thinking. Makes sense to me."

She jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards the attic. "Well, not to him, apparently. And now I can't undo it, and I can't make it better again, so basically… we're all screwed."

He blinks at her. "And that changes things for us… how?"

She can't help but grin at him. "Good point." She sits upright a little more, tapping her foot against the stair below as she savours the heat of the coffee against her throat. "Ardiles thinks he'll try for a plea bargain, but even if the judge goes for it, there's no way he'll weasel out of a custodial sentence. So I guess we've got that going for us."

Cho opens his mouth to reply, but at the sound of Jane's heavy footfall behind them, they turn around in synchrony. "So he does a few measly years," he grouses, stopping a few steps above them and sitting down abruptly. "Then what?"

Her fingers clench around the coffee cup as she glares up at him. "Look, Jane," she says firmly, "you want me to say I'm sorry? I'm sorry. I really am. And before you say it, _yes_, that apology would probably sound a lot more genuine if you didn't keep acting like I did this deliberately."

He seems somewhat taken aback. "That's not what I think."

She doesn't hide her scepticism, and neither does Cho. Jane actually seems a little perturbed to see their matching expressions; he glances away as he concedes, "Well, perhaps I've been taking this out on you to an extent."

Her eyes narrow. "Perhaps?"

He eyes the hot coffee and amends, "Okay, not perhaps." He meets her eyes sheepishly. "Sorry, Lisbon."

She presses her lips together briefly. "Well, what are we going to do about it, anyway?"

He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Every solution I've considered involves either appealing to the better nature of the legal profession – not a task I'd relish – or employing the sort of questionable methods that could get us arrested ourselves."

She squints at him suspiciously. "Do I want to know…?"

The shake of his head is instantaneous. "Most definitely not. _I_ don't even want to know, and they're _my_ methods." He looks her in the eye, determined. "They're just silly, dark thoughts, Lisbon. I swear I have no intention of bringing them to life."

Lisbon's fingertips feel numb against her coffee cup as she tries, just for a few seconds, to read Jane – _really_ read him. Then she remembers how spectacularly she has failed in the past (_EricaLoreleiRedJohn_) and blinks, looking away. She supposes this is one of those times that she'll just have to trust him, and be prepared for the mother of all rugs to be swept from under her feet.

When she meets his eyes again, he's giving her a strange look.

_Almost desperate,_ she thinks, and then brushes it aside.

"Screw Cohen," she says. "A hundred bucks says he skips bail anyway."

She has no idea how reckless she's being, inviting the universe to fuck with her like that.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, I should probably mention how I got the idea for Paul Cohen (who really originated as a kind of Bad Jane, along the lines of Fugue in Red but worse). I saw this photo of Simon Baker: 12thisinthetardis. tumblr post /70522998428 (don't forget to remove the spaces! Not my blog, btw, just the first one I came to when I was trying to track it down) and couldn't resist building a character around it. The police artist's sketch in chapter one was based on this photo.

Thanks for reading! Plenty more Paul to come… please let me know if this thrills or chills you ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** The news that Jane has an 'evil twin' is spreading like wildfire throughout the building. Last she heard, some people are taking it as a sign that the apocalypse is imminent and have fled the city already. [Jane/Lisbon. Slightly crazy (and by that I of course mean 100% insane)]

**Disclaimer:** Don't own The Mentalist, blah blah blah

**Author's Notes:** Thank you so much to everybody who has reviewed/favourited/followed etc. I am so, so grateful; it really does stoke the flames, and so I was able to produce this chapter a lot quicker than I thought I would.

Quick reminder that _italics_ indicate future scenes (which are not necessarily linear, by the way). I'm thrilled that so many of you like Paul, despite his evil (sort of) nature. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter, which contains a little bit more of him than Chapter 2. Happy reading!

* * *

This time, they're proactive. Lisbon does a PowerPoint presentation in the seminar room to six different units, in particular highlighting Cohen's (few) distinguishing features. "If in doubt," she finishes darkly, "just remember that Cohen is a bigger pain in the ass." She blinks. "You know, relatively speaking."

Higgins from Narcotics fixes her with a grim stare. "And it's shoot to kill, right?"

She juts her lower jaw forward. "For the sixth time, _no_."

Covey clears his throat. "Look, I'm not _saying_ that this guy's existence is an abomination, but… I mean, biblically speaking, we're all worried, okay?"

"Biblically speaking, Tom, you need to put 'monozygotic twins' into Wikipedia and stop freaking out." She heaves a deep sigh and tries to relax. "Look, I realise this is not exactly a fun extracurricular activity for anybody, but don't forget – this guy is either going to jail or he's going to skip bail. If he does that, he's probably going to leave the state as well. I'm just warning you about this because there's a chance he might cross your radar – that's all."

"Yeah," Brogan snipes from the back row, "didn't they say the exact same thing about Jane ten years ago? Yet I've got two agents who basically tried to shoot each other last week after he stirred shit up between them."

She presses her fingertips into her thigh and tries to hold her temper in check. "If you honestly think those agents would have been best buddies if it hadn't been for Jane," she says tightly, "then you need to have another talk with your people. _And a psych evaluation_," she adds under her breath. "Okay, I'm done, thanks very much – please collect your promotional 'This is not Jane' DVD at the door."

Van Pelt waits until most of the agents have exited, grumbling and making dark predictions about 'mistaken identity' and 'in the line of duty'. "Boss," she says, eyeing the stragglers warily, "I've got some news."

For the first time in several days, Lisbon is starting to feel as though she has some small amount of control over this situation. She can't lock up Cohen and throw away the key, but she _can_ try to keep a close eye on him and make sure he attends his own trial in a month's time. If he ever shows up in Sacramento, that is.

Van Pelt and Cho have taken the lead for the scenario that he might get 'lost' somewhere along the way.

"I just got off the phone with Deputy Sheriff Byrne in Bakersfield. Highway patrol spotted Cohen driving a Ford Thunderbird north along the I-5." Van Pelt hands her a printout from the DMV. "It doesn't belong to him, but the deputy spoke to the owner before she called me – apparently Cohen is delivering it to the owner's brother in Santa Clara."

"Uh-huh." Lisbon is unconvinced. "I'll believe it when I see it. Call the locals in San Jose _and _San Francisco and remind them of his court date, would you?"

"Sure thing, boss." Van Pelt pauses at the door. "Oh, and Ardiles called for you before. Said it wasn't important, though." She smiles slyly as she darts away, and Lisbon suppresses a groan. Van Pelt is a die-hard romantic, which is fine – except when she decides to involve Lisbon in her machinations.

In fairness, Lisbon supposes, all Van Pelt tends to do is get excited from a distance. She's never crossed the line of actively trying to engineer Lisbon's love life… but that doesn't mean Lisbon would put it past her.

This disturbing train of thought is cut short by the sharp sound of knuckles rapping against glass, and she almost jumps out of her skin. "Sorry," says Jane, rounding the doorframe into the room and sounding unusually contrite. His eyes meet hers only for a second before they're drawn to the screen behind her. "Oh, so this is what you've been up to."

She glances over her shoulder to see her final slide still on display. 'In Summary,' it declares in bold at the top, followed by two pictures. 'Jane' one is captioned; the other, helpfully, 'Not Jane'.

She scowls, realising that her message of 'catch Cohen if he so much as looks at you funny' has been somewhat overshadowed by her fear that Jane will spend the next month being tackled to the ground by his own colleagues.

Strangely, Jane seems to find this both amusing and endearing. "Maybe I should wear a t-shirt," he muses, as she packs her laptop away. "One that says 'Property of Teresa Lisbon – for her handcuffs only'." He tosses her a rather wicked grin as he holds the door for her.

She takes the opportunity to smack him in the stomach on the way past. "Don't you dare," she warns half-heartedly. "If you really want to be helpful, you could spend some time endearing yourself to other agents. You know," she adds, as he falls into step with her, "since the paperwork every time you get injured is so tedious, and all."

"Ah, yes, the paperwork." He nods sagely. "Save the trees, and so on."

"Uh-huh." She toes the door to her office open, dumping the laptop bag in the corner and sinking gratefully into her comfortable leather desk chair. Jane, as per usual, finds some way to take up every inch of space on her couch. Like a large cat, she thinks uncharitably. "Anyway, according to Van Pelt, Cohen is sort of meandering in this general direction. So I figure we should just sit tight for now."

"Hmm." Jane seems unconcerned, pillowing his hands on his stomach and closing his eyes. "I agree. Uh, wake me up later, will you?"

She narrows her eyes. "What are you up to?"

He opens one eye to peer lazily at her. "Up to? Lisbon, you wound me terrib –"

"_Jane_."

He makes a big show of tutting and huffing, but she can tell he's a little bit pleased with himself. He props his back up with a cushion, but his eyes still droop closed as he talks. "I've been giving it some thought," he explains, "and it occurs to me that whatever Paul Cohen's been doing since he ran away from the circus, he was at least part of that world for a short time in his life. So I've been in touch with some of the old gang, trying to dig up some information."

She can't help but wonder if that decision was partly driven by an urge to know more about what happened to his brother after they were parted as infants… but that's a can of worms Jane isn't ready to acknowledge yet, let alone open. "Okay," she says instead. "And… anything?"

He nods. "Oh, lots."

When he doesn't elaborate, she grits her teeth and starts flicking paperclips at him. Her aim is spectacular – the first one strikes the top of his curly head, and the second one bounces off his nose. "Ow," he says, sitting up abruptly. "Lisbon, I think we need to talk about these pent-up anger issues of yours."

She holds a third paperclip aloft. "Talk, carnie boy," she threatens.

There's a flicker of something in his eyes – a flash of warmth and intensity that startles her – and then it's gone all too soon. Perhaps she never saw it at all. "Pete and Sam did some digging for me," he says. "Specifically, they had a chat with Barb O'Keefe, who lives in a retirement community in Escondido these days. By all accounts, she was very fond of him, but she didn't waste any time trying to tie him down. He was a, uh, 'wild thing' with 'no loyalty, no love and no respect'."

Lisbon frowns. "So why the heck was she fond of him? Especially since he was dumped on her and her husband."

"An excellent question, Lisbon," he replies, and seems to mean it. "Reading between the lines, he picked up some rather useful skills that went beyond simple pickpocketing. Barb and Archie were friends with some bright sparks who were involved in credit card fraud – as it was in those days, anyway. There was big money to be had, if you picked the right mark, and people weren't as sharp about checking their account activity back then." He shrugs. "I think Barb and Archie made use of his profitable activities for as long as they could… but sooner or later he realised he could leave them behind and keep every cent for himself."

Lisbon closes her eyes briefly and tries to imagine that young, feral boy with so little to call his own. Picturing him like that, she can only feel pity. But when the boy's face morphs into that of Paul Cohen, sneering at her across the table, she finds her sympathy in short supply.

Logically, she doesn't need the missing pieces to complete this puzzle – Paul Cohen has never had any parents or even any friends. He raised himself using the only information he had at the time – that skills meant money, and money meant independence. Human feelings weren't part of the equation. She wonders if he even recognised that something was missing.

She glances across at Jane, and finds him watching her curiously. "What a perfect candidate he would have been," he muses, "for 'mother bear' Teresa Lisbon's brood."

She rolls her eyes. "Not to be insensitive about your age, Jane, but I was quite a bit younger than him when he fell by life's wayside."

His brow furrows. "A couple of years, perhaps," he says reluctantly. "Try to leave my ego in one piece, Lisbon, if you could."

She hides her smile. Jane is five years older than her, but they've never discussed it before. She had no idea it could be such a sore spot. _Useful_, she thinks briefly, before clearing her throat and steering the conversation back to safer territory. "Okay, so his criminal upbringing was more traditional than yours," she offers, "and as far as we know, he's done some time in juvie but kept everything else off the radar, somehow, until now." She raises her hands expectantly. "That was all they had to say? 'He ran off too soon'?"

Jane's frown of displeasure is not aimed at her, she realises. "I don't know," he murmurs. "I get the feeling there was something else, but you've met Pete and Sam. If they don't want to tell you, you'll have more luck beating your head against your own desk." He seems a little uncomfortable. "They're not so easy for me to read, either."

Lisbon doesn't often have the satisfaction of realising something about Jane that he hasn't quite realised about himself, and she feels guilty for experiencing it now – he's far more emotionally invested in his brother than he knows. Maybe it's because he wasn't so happy with his own childhood, and finding out that Cohen had it worse has been a shock to the system.

Or maybe it's because Cohen is an ever-present reminder of the fact that Jane could have followed a very similar path… that they have more in common than he would like to admit.

Whatever the reason, she knows there's nothing she can say or do to make this better. It's an internal battle of Jane's own making… but at the very least, she can lend a hand if he wants it.

As if he's picked up on her train of thought, Jane catches her eye deliberately. "I'm sorry I haven't made this easy on you," he says softly. "You've been more patient than I deserve, Lisbon, and to say I'm grateful is a ridiculous understatement. But I'd like to say it anyway." That warmth is there again in his eyes, and this time it doesn't disappear with a blink. It's as though he _wants_ her to see it. "I don't know how all of this is going to pan out," he continues, "but I hope you won't think badly of me when it's over."

_Badly of him?_

She frowns, echoing this aloud. "What are you talking about?"

He sighs deeply, closing his eyes again. "I spent maybe ten minutes with Cohen three weeks ago, and it brought out the worst side of me. If we meet again, I can't guarantee it'll be any different, especially if he –" He cuts himself off abruptly, shifting uncomfortably. "Anyway, I hope it won't come to that, but if it does, I need you to do me a favour."

She's distracted, pondering the meaning of his half-finished sentence (_especially if he what?)_ so she says, "Of course," without thinking. Then, hastily, "what kind of favour?"

His gaze is firm, but she can see the thin edge of desperation underneath. "Promise me you'll stay as far away from him as possible."

"What?" she half-laughs. "Jane, I've just spent the last week annoying the other teams to death about contacting me if they see Cohen up to no good. I've promised Ardiles we'll keep everything under control until the trial. What do you want me to do if he shows up? Run like hell while Cho slaps the cuffs on him?"

She hopes he'll see the humour here, but his mouth is set in a thin line as he stares at her, unblinking. "I'm not kidding, Lisbon. Do what you need to do, by all means, but don't talk to him, don't touch him, and don't – above all else – let him get you alone."

She doesn't know how long she sits there, staring at him like an idiot, utterly unable to comprehend what he's suggesting. "Why do you think that's even going to be an issue?" she manages eventually.

He doesn't meet her eyes. "Just call it a brotherly intuition."

He refuses to say anymore, eventually feigning sleep until she leaves him alone. It's only later that she realises that she never really agreed to anything, and she isn't sure how she feels about that.

* * *

_He acts as though he's completely at home – he even takes the empty milk carton into the kitchen and dumps it in the trashcan. She hopes he'll leave it at that, but no – when he walks back into the living room he begins to casually inspect the items she's foolishly left lying around._

_Not for the first time, she wishes she were better organised. _

_Then again, he obviously doesn't let drawers and cupboard doors stand in his way. "Interesting taste in music," he remarks, waving her Spice Girls CD in her general direction. "I had a girlfriend who used to listen to this on repeat. We lasted about a week, but I still remember some of the words." His grin contains an element of challenge. "How does it go again? 'Tonight is the night' when something something?"_

_She glares at him from across the room. "Tonight is the night when my neighbours hear you screaming for help, but they don't call the cops because they assume I've got it in hand."_

_He frowns thoughtfully. "No, I don't think that's it."_

_She watches him with growing unease as he picks through the shelves. She's torn between going over there to put a stop to this, and maintaining some physical distance. This isn't so much because of Jane's request – though heaven knows she's broken her not-quite-promise at least a dozen times already – but because she senses something's different tonight. She can't put her finger on it, but there's some kind of intent radiating from him that she's never picked up on before._

_The problem is, she's not sure addressing it would be such a smart move. Which leaves her in a difficult position if she ever wants to get this jackass out of her house._

_Eventually, she opts for something of a misdirect. "Big day on Thursday," she says cheerily. "You picked out a good suit for court yet?"_

_His back stiffens, and when he turns to her she can see the lines of tension in his face. "Now why would you bring that up?" he asks tightly. _

_She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were playing that game where we make each other really uncomfortable. Is that not what you were going for?"_

_He raises his chin, and at this angle his smirk looks more like a sneer. "Let's be honest here," he says, folding his arms across his chest, "you know exactly what I'm 'going for', and since you haven't pulled a gun on me yet, I'd say I've still got a shot." He watches her carefully. "How's that for uncomfortable?"_

_She knows her pulse just picked up speed a little, but she tries her best to ignore it. Traitorous heart, she thinks. You're responding to the wrong face, you idiot._

"_Seriously, Goldilocks, you need to leave," she says instead. "You've had your fun with this little house invasion, but I have limited patience and quite a few concealed weapons, so…" She steps aside, gesturing to the door. "Out."_

_His eyes darken as he crosses the room. Only he isn't heading for the door, she finds; her back hits the wall as he closes the distance between them. "Good choice with the Goldilocks metaphor," he says roughly, his breath brushing against her hair. "But I figure I didn't get the full deal – I mean, Goldilocks got a meal, a chair… and slept in someone else's bed." He angles his head, his arm sliding around her waist. "Why mess with the status quo?"_

_His body is firm against hers, and his mouth is fast closing the gap._

_If she wanted to, she realises, she could road-test the fantasy without any of the messy complications. She could see, feel and taste – everything she's been trying not to imagine for the last who knows how many years?_

_But her conscience – as usual – gets the best of her. It wouldn't be right, she acknowledges._

_Still, as she brings her knee up swiftly towards his groin, she manages to shock herself with the realisation that she regrets curtailing this experience for more than one reason._

* * *

The thing is, even though outwardly Lisbon has been preparing other teams for the possibility that they'll encounter Cohen first, she's been assuming it'll be her own unit. After all, Cohen's the one who made a big deal of his 'family ties' to the San Diego judge, so if he actually plans to turn up for this trial, surely he'll also make contact with Jane. (What his purpose will be in doing so, she has no idea, but that's a problem she's prepared to deal with later.)

Anyway, the point is, she's been so busy watching her own bullpen for signs of worrying activity that she hasn't exactly kept in touch with other units.

So when Jack Elias calls her and rather cagily asks her to come down to Fraud on the second floor, she naturally assumes he wants in on the bet. The pool is steadily getting larger; she doesn't even know what the odds are anymore, but people are placing crazier and crazier bets with each passing day, so frankly Cohen skipping bail looks like a safe option to most people.

The point is, she doesn't question Elias's request, and she doesn't take her gun.

In retrospect, that's probably a good thing.

She's in a good mood when she arrives on the second floor. They've solved three cases in as many days, they're up to date on paperwork, Jane is finally starting to come out of the other side of this discovery... life is good. She isn't intentionally grinning as she raps twice on Elias's office door, but she hears the smile in her voice when she pushes it open without waiting for an answer, half-stepping through the gap. "Hey Jack," she says brightly. "Long odds are on the existence of triplets, if you're looking for a tip..."

She trails off as she opens the door wider. She's not sure what, exactly, sets off her internal alarm. Maybe it's the tension in Elias's face, or the way he seems to be perched on the edge of his desk chair. Both of those things are concerning, but neither is responsible for the prickling of the hairs at the back of her neck, or the sensation of ice sliding down her spine. She feels the smile fall away from her face as she turns in the doorway to look at the man leaning carelessly against the wall, one foot planted against the brick, his thumbs curled into his belt loops.

As she meets his eyes, he pushes away from the wall and steps towards her. "Good to see you again, Agent Lisbon," says Paul Cohen, with an outstretched hand. "Or can I call you Teresa? You know… since we'll be working together and all."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh no she didn't! *Clears throat* Er, oh yes I did… sort of. All will be explained in Chapter 4. In the meantime, if anybody finds a Simon Baker doppelganger, please tranquilize him safely and get in touch so that I may collect him for purely innocent purposes.

(Also, I crave your reviews to tame my rabid insecurities. Please leave me a few words of love below! *cheesy grin*)


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